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The sound of wood creaking behind me had me looking over my shoulder. A man stepped inside, his focus on his cell, his face cast in a scowl. He said something low, too low for me to understand.

He shoved his cell in his pocket, went to turn around, but then spotted me. For a second he just stared at me, his dark eyes seeming like endless pools. It gave me the chills, made me frightened. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

“You like the art?” His voice was thickly accented.

I nodded, not sure why I felt so nervous, so off-kilter. I wanted to go back to Cameron. I went closer to the door, but he shifted, blocking me.

His smile was so dark it actually made me uncomfortable. Warning bells started going off, red flags flashing in front of my eyes. I needed to get to people, to the crowd. There I’d feel safe, just like at the club, being swallowed whole by the sea of bodies.

“Are you here alone?”

I shook my head, my throat far too tight to manage any words. Force them out. Show strength. “I’m not alone.” The need to run, to lash out, to fight ran strong within me. I was pressed to the wall, my hands flat on it, the sweat starting to form on my palms. He moved closer, the cloying, suffocating sensation of his cologne making me sick.

I tried to look around his shoulder, but he’d backed me into a corner, the people at this event farther away than I would have liked. I was blocked by his grossly large muscles.

He breathed out hard, the scent of his liquor-laced breath wafting over me, the need to gag strong. My stomach was twisted, turned around. I was in flight or fight, my mind screaming to be rational, that I couldn’t stop this man if I wanted to. But my body wanted to lash out, to survive.

“So small, fragile.” He looked into my eyes, his smile grotesque. “I’ll have fun breaking you, girl.”

I didn’t know what came over me, but this surge of power, of strength took hold, making me feel—realize—I was not this asshole’s victim. I brought my knee up, rammed it right between his thighs, and felt really damn good when he made this pained sound.

“You fucking cunt,” he gritted out. He was slightly hunched, and I knew he wanted to grab himself, relieve the pain I’d caused, but instead he raised his hand. I knew he’d hit back, knew he wouldn’t stand for me attacking him. I wanted to move, tried to in that instant, but his big body blocked me.

I tensed, bracing for the hit, but before it came I saw a shadow cross over his body. Then a hand grabbed his arm, pulling back with a force that had him stumbling.

The big brute cursed in Russian. Although I didn’t see, couldn’t see who held him away from me at this angle, I knew it was Cameron.

I felt it in the air, this charge, this intensity that stole my breath, made me weak, had me shaking. And then the Russian was jerked back and I saw Cameron. He looked furious, enraged, his eyes cold, dead.

I shifted, seeing the man’s face now, the fear that covered it.

“Damien, take her to the car,” Cameron said, never moving his gaze off the man he still held. I glanced to the side, seeing Damien, not sure where he’d come from.

“Let’s go,” Damien said, grabbing my arm, steering me out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door.

The limo was already waiting at the bottom of the steps. Damien opened the back door for me and gently pushed me inside. I don’t know how long I sat there, my palms damp, my heart in my throat.

Finally the door opened again, and I saw Damien hand Cameron a white rag. Cameron slipped in, his focus on his knuckles. That’s when I saw the blood covering them. I lifted my gaze to his white shirt, seeing the splatters of red along the stark light color.

“Did you kill him?” I asked softly, almost frightened to know the answer. He didn’t respond me right away, just continued to clean his hands off. I looked out my window, not expecting a response. This was Cameron, after all.

“Whether I did or didn’t isn’t the point.”

I glanced at him after he spoke. “Isn’t it?”

He looked at me then, his face hidden partially by the shadows, his expression void.

“No.”

I slowly inhaled, not sure if I should push this. I wanted to, wanted to see what he was thinking about, what was going on in his head. I wanted to learn about him, know what m

ade him tick. But I also knew Cameron was a mystery, didn’t let people in, and I doubted even if he trusted them.

“But I didn’t kill him, even if I should have.” He stared me right in the eyes. “Make no mistake, Sofia. I wanted to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat for even thinking he could look at you.” This draft of frigid air slammed into me. “The fact he touched you…” He shook his head slowly. “If he wasn’t who he was, and a man I need alive for business purposes, I would have fucking gutted him.”

I breathed in and out hard and fast, his words like a knife, sharp, deadly.

“And no one would have fucking stopped me.” And then this expression covered his face, this hard, cold look that I felt to my bones. It was reflected at me. And then, just as fast as it had shown up, he masked it.

Cameron turned and looked out the window, and I did the same. I watched the scenery pass us by, not sure what the sudden change in him was. He seemed angry. Was he blaming this on me?

Why does it matter? In a few days I’ll be gone—all of this behind me, my life in front of me.

But that felt so empty.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE FINAL DAY

HE’D KEPT HIS DISTANCE, made me feel isolated. I was starting to feel, to think, this had more to do with his emotions than the fact that he didn’t want me.

I found myself moving through the house, running my fingers along the smooth wood, taking in the desolate, dark pictures. The man I cared about, had fallen for during my short time here, was more of an enigma than anything else.

He’d been beaten as a child, given away as if he were nothing. He’d fought to survive…literally, and here he was now, standing tall, above everyone else. Although my life, childhood, hadn’t been this bottomless pit like he’d experienced, I did know the darkness he felt, even if it wasn’t nearly to the extent he did.

I found myself in front of the bird painting, staring at the mouth, the bleak eyes. I felt for Cameron, wanted to be the one who comforted him, shared in his pain. But a man like him, one who had been through so much, hid what he needed. He wasn’t normal in the sense that he needed, or wanted, comfort.